Green-Eyed Raven: A Harry Potter/DC Crossover Fanfiction

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its associated characters: all rights belong to JK Rowling. I do not own DC, Justice League, Young Justice, Teen Titans or any of their associated characters: all rights belong to DC Comics and all respective creators. I do not own any other crossover references used in the story: all rights belong to their original creators. I do own any OC spells explained at the end of a chapter.

Plot: Behind Harry's emerald-green eyes, a dark power waits for the chance to spread its wings and make the world burn. However, with help from unexpected sources and home truths, can Harry learn to tame this power or will all worlds be forced to face the Raven?

Author's Note: So, I know I've got so many other works in progress at the moment, but this one…well…let's just say inspiration's a pain and leave it at that. At the same time, if it makes things easier for you readers, then consider this an Elseworlds fic, so when you see a DC point that isn't canon, now you know why.

I mean, the BIG plot point of this story alone should be proof of that!

Recommended Reads: Phantom by PerseusPeverell092, Demon Calling by Dark knight Aegus, Harry Potter: Raven by Shadow Crystal Mage, Young Justice: Shazam by Hellfire17, Harry Potter: The Prince of Atlantis by Tylanoid, Magical Origins by Dante 2K-25, Broken Shackles by Black Infinity 1289, Apex and Damaged Raven by JustBored21, The Girl of Steel and the Silver Speedster by mysteryman10000, The Rise of the Last Potter by HPfanfictioner66, Limitless by Greed720, Harry Potter and the Half-God Prince by Marcus Rowland and Demon Contract by 9foxgrl

Key Pairing: Eventual Harmony; JohnZee

Other Pairings: To be determined

Normal Speech

'Thoughts'

'Mental Speech'

/Parseltongue/

Year One: Chapter One: A Hero Nevermore

Lily Alexandrea Potter was scared.

Given the fact she was about to find herself face-to-face with every wizard's worst nightmare – at least, as far as those who lived in Magical Britain were concerned – it was probably expected for her to feel fear, dread, horror and alarm well up inside of her.

However, what pretty much every single one of those people – not to mention the source of the nightmare rapidly approaching the nursery where she'd tried to keep her only son from seeing the danger in front of them – didn't know was that Lily's fear, which currently flooded every fibre of her being, was a fear that she felt for a completely different reason.

A reason that had nothing to do with the British Nightmare coming towards the nursery, but, instead, her fear was deeply-ingrained in her soul, where it seemed to have taken root way deep down in its core, where it had been slowly burning and eating away at every ounce of her confidence, her strength – and not just her physical strength, but her mental, magical and, yes, even her personal strength as well – and her hopes and dreams, even as she tried to gather up enough courage to do what she knew must be done for her baby's sake.

As a wise man would say, it was all for the Greater Good, and Lily knew it.

Especially if it meant that a real nightmare stayed locked up, bound and unable to be unleashed on the world, robbing not only the world as a whole of all they held dear, but, more importantly, also robbing her sweet child of…well…of himself.

The worst part of her fear was the fact that, before this dark night, Lily had been given a way out, an olive branch, with which she could have saved her beautiful boy and even avoided what was coming. However, fear, scepticism and the ideals of a world so outdated, it was laughably-pathetic, as well as her own inner demons and the fallout of what had brought that into her life.

All these things had made her take that olive branch and throw it into Fiendfyre, feeding the flames of her refusals and, as a result, leading to the dark, terrible choice that Lily now knew she had to make.

For the Greater Good…

But also for her son.

As she heard the door to the nursery open slowly, almost-provocatively, indicating that the British Nightmare was now right outside the door, Lily steeled herself before, closing her eyes, she whispered a final prayer of inevitability to the room, and its only other occupant.

"I'm sorry, my love…"

As though emphasising her pain, a lone tear rolled down Lily's cheek, splashing softly onto the forehead of a sleeping, innocent and, by all means, adorably-cute baby boy, who didn't even stir as Lily kissed his brow before she rose up again, letting her wand fall to the floor where it proceeded to roll under the crib.

She wouldn't need it where she was going.

If this sick-and-twisted bastard who claimed to be working towards the goal of Magical Supremacy – when, in reality, Lily, and those who called her friend and ally, knew he was nothing more than a vile, evil, twisted, psychopathic, genocidal maniac of a terrorist with childish temper tantrums as his only failsafe, who'd only be happy when the world was down to him and those who served him…or else – did what she hoped he would do, everything would fall into place perfectly.

Anything was better than It being unleashed, even the sacrificial death of Lily Alexandra Potter.

'Goodbye, Harry…be safe…be strong…and know…that you are loved…my little raven…'

Raven

Ten Years Later

For all intents and purposes, the boy whom was known as the now-eleven-year-old Harry James Potter was one of the most-unusual, if not mysterious little boys to occupy the seemingly nice-and-normal suburbs found in Little Whinging, Surrey.

If any of the inhabitants of Little Whinging were asked by strangers or any other people who came to the neighbourhood about why he was so unusual and mysterious, however, the answers would be varied, depending on who you talked to.

Raven

Some say it was because he seemed to be a shy, withdrawn little boy who wouldn't say boo to a goose, or seemed to have any friends.

Some say it was because of the eerily-unnatural pallor of his skin, which made him look like someone who'd never known daylight's touch, while he also never seemed to tan or burn in the sunlight, no matter how hot it got.

Some say it was because of how Harry was quiet, only speaking if someone spoke to him and, more-often than not, was found keeping himself to himself, doing gardening, or just sitting alone in his family's garden, reading a book until he was called inside by his Aunt and Uncle.

Some say it was because of how the boy seemed to grow remarkably-tall, remarkably quickly, even for an eleven-year-old – reaching a height of close to five feet seven by the time he turned eleven – but, in contrast, he didn't seem to put on an ounce of body fat, which, when compared to the very large sizes of his Uncle Vernon and his cousin, Dudley, seemed to be impossible.

Some say it was because his emerald-green eyes always seemed to have this glassy, creepy look about them that made it look as though he was staring into your very soul, even if or when he was happy, and, for your own sake, it was wise not to meet this cold, eerie, hypnotic thousand-yard stare because it was just plain creepy, if not unnatural.

Some say it was because his raven-black hair never seemed to lie flat and, no matter how much time passed, it never looked like it had known the touch of a hairbrush, or even a shaver, because it was always long, shaggy and as untameable as sin.

Some say it was because of the very weird, unexplainable scar that was always visible on the boy's forehead, underneath the wild, shaggy hair he had; it was an angry-looking red streak shaped like a bolt of lightning and, thanks to his pale skin, always stood out against the rest of him, making it the first thing people often noticed.

Some say it was because of the fact that, according to his Aunt and Uncle, as well as a seemingly neverending stream of neighbours on either side of the house, as well as the local rumour mill, the boy seemed to suffer terribly from night terrors, which seemed to leave little room for a peaceful night's sleep in Number Four, much less numbers 2 or 6.

Why his Aunt and Uncle hadn't done anything about his often-terrifying, but also annoyingly-constant screaming fits, much less his strange habits and sleepless attitude, nobody knew, but this was, probably, just another thing that made Harry weird.

Whatever the truth, the fact of the matter was that Harry was a strange little boy.

Raven

And yet, if any of those narrow-minded nitwits knew just how little they'd hit the nail on the head, and what really lay dormant, for a time, beneath the tip of the raven-haired, creepily-cold, emerald-eyed iceberg, they might have stopped making such remarks in the first place.

But, instead, while they remained blissfully-ignorant, as only unsuspecting Muggles could, none of them had any idea of how a whole other world was about to learn the truth for themselves.

Raven

DING-DONG!

"Get the door, Harry," grunted Vernon Dursley, without looking up over the top of his morning paper.

As Harry left the breakfast table to oblige his Uncle without even a hint of argument, he casually walked past Aunt Petunia, who seemed to flinch when she saw him look at her in confusion, before he walked out into the hallway, a look of confusion and politeness on his face.

Pulling the front door open to greet the guest, Harry was a little surprised, but only at first, to find himself looking at an elderly gentleman whom was definitely unlike any other old man that he'd seen on and around Privet Drive. For one thing, the gentleman was dressed in what looked like a very olden-days-style coat, with a cane by his side and a jovial, hoity-toity air about him. He also had an obscenely-long white beard and eyes that never seemed to lose their electric-blue-like sparkle while, as he saw Harry looking at him – the two of them almost eye-to-eye thanks to Harry's insane growth spurts in the run up to his eleventh birthday – the boy saw a look of shock, if not alarm cross the old man's face before he addressed Harry in a dazed, disbelieving whisper.

"H…H…Harry?"

"Yes," said Harry, his voice cool and apathetic, as well as a little cracked, suggesting either overuse or damage, or even an early, onset time of teen adolescence hitting him at age eleven, which left his voice sounding unnaturally-so for a child – at least that's what everyone else in Little Whinging thought – as he looked the old man up and down before he asked, "Who are you, sir?"

"I…I…I'm Al…Albus Dumbledore," replied the old man, earning a raised eyebrow from Harry, while the strangely-dressed individual continued in an almost-hasty tone. "I have come to try and talk to you about attending our school; you did receive your letter, after all."

"Yes," repeated Harry, his curious expression returning to normal as he realised why the man's name had attracted his attention.

Though his voice didn't change in its tone or emotionless presence as he now hastily added, "And it's just like I told you in my response to your letter, Mr Dumbledore; I don't want to come to your school of magic. In truth, the only thing I want is to be left alone."

"But Harry," said Dumbledore, earning a slightly-disturbed look from Harry before he took a step back from the door, and the old man standing there, as he shook his head.

"Please…just go away, Mr Dumbledore; I sent you my response and that's final. Please don't contact me or my family again; goodbye, sir."

With that, he closed the door, before he turned to go back into the kitchen…

Though not before he froze in place when he saw Dumbledore standing in the aforementioned kitchen, offering an apologetic look to a stunned, disbelieving Petunia, a slightly-troubled-looking Vernon and an awestruck Dudley before, looking to Harry, the old man shook his head slowly.

"I am terribly sorry about this, my boy, but I'm afraid I must insist…because, if you do not come to the school and study your craft, you may wind up destroying all you hold dear, including not only your family, but the world that your parents, Merlin bless their souls, sacrificed their lives to protect!"

Raven

32 Days Later

"Harry Potter?"

After a long journey, filled with what had been a seemingly-neverending stream of intrusions that he neither wanted nor needed, the constant dilemma of why he was bothering with this – before being reminded of the insistent, but also-alarming words of warning from Dumbledore, which Harry had told him flat was the only reason he was coming here – and a boat ride across a large lake, Harry finally approached the Sorting Hat, keeping his head down and his eyes downcast as he sat underneath it.

Not to his surprise, more than a few people were craning their necks trying to see him, while others were pointing fingers and whispering to each other as they kept their gaze in his general direction, which made him feel even more uncomfortable than he already did.

As he closed his eyes, breathing deeply and trying to focus every part of his being on staying in his neutral, apathetic and calm frame of mind, Harry gave a brief start when he heard a soft voice whisper in his ear.

'Oh my! This is…difficult: I confess, I have been expecting you for some time, little hatchling, but now that I see you for myself…I am left to wonder where might be best-suited for you. Gryffindor is out, immediately: yes, their closeness and the reputation of your forebears may very well bring about the destruction you so fear coming to pass.'

'Not that the old guy told me how this destruction would happen, only that Hogwarts, and him, were the only ways that I could learn how to avoid it,' thought Harry, before he gasped softly as he heard the voice of the hat speak to him again.

'If I might offer a word of advice, young Harry: look to one of our recently-acquired staff members for the answers you seek…and, on that note, let me see now…hmm. Interesting: you have a strong will, and an isolated spirit, undoubtedly thanks to the unfortunate actions of your upbringing, as well as your…unusual looks and attitudes towards others. So, perhaps Slytherin is a possibility, but…then again, maybe not! Their hierarchical ways might just be the worst thing for you. Hmm…well, you do have a loyal side, but it is more the loyalty of one who looks out for number one and only him, so…maybe not Hufflepuff…which just leaves…well, forgive me for finding it funny. It's quite an irony, really…but, if there is truly no other choice, then it had better be…'

"RAVENCLAW!"

Loud, rambunctious applause greeted Harry as the hat made its choice.

Even as he lifted the hat from his head, however, not even acknowledging the shocked, curious and alarmed, if not enraged looks sent by many of his peers – particularly a certain redhead waiting to be sorted and one or two others on the red-clad Gryffindor Table – Harry drew out a slow, calming breath as he walked over to the Ravenclaw Table.

'What could be ironic about this?' wondered Harry, taking a seat as far away from everyone else as he could get, before he moved to put his head in his hands as he tried to drown out the cries of celebration that seemed to go on forever.

All because Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, had been sorted.

If only he'd known how much louder and more rambunctious things would have gotten had he been sent to Gryffindor, however, he might have thanked Fate for giving him an easier time of it.

Raven

With the last student, Blaise Zabini, sent to Slytherin, the Sorting Ceremony finally came to an end.

As Professor McGonagall returned the Sorting Hat to wherever it was that it went between ceremonies, a polite, if not expectant hush settled over the hall as the Headmaster rose from his seat before he looked around the hall.

For a long time, his gaze settled on the Ravenclaw Table, where Harry was still doing his best to ignore his new Housemates' efforts to be near him.

Unseen by the boy, Dumbledore's expression saddened as he looked from Harry to one of his colleagues, who nodded, as though silently agreeing with Dumbledore's observation, before the Headmaster addressed the hall as a whole.

"And now, before we become engrossed in our bountiful feast, I have a few last-minute notices to give out: the first-years, please note, that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to all students…and, once again, I fear I must remind some of our elder students of this rule as well."

A pair of redheads smirked to themselves over on the Gryffindor Table, before Dumbledore continued, "Also, Mr Filch, our caretaker, wishes me to inform you that the use of certain items and magical artefacts is also forbidden in the corridors and at Hogwarts: anyone who wishes to see the full list of restricted items may do so by approaching Mr Filch and inquiring."

Judging by the murmurs and curious looks sent by some older students, this wasn't quite a preferable choice to go anywhere near the surly-looking caretaker, who also shared that sentiment, if the scowl on his face had anything to say about it.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, nodded once, as though he'd just remembered something, as he added, "Furthermore, on the topic of places and items that are forbidden to you all, I have one very important thing to say: this year, for the safety of all present, staff and student alike, it grieves me to tell you that, for security reasons, as well as your own safety, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds…to anyone who does not wish to die a most-painful death."

A lone scoff seemed to pierce the silence that followed those words, causing more than a few to look at the Ravenclaw Table, where Harry had one hand resting against his cheek as he propped himself up on the table. His eyes were closed, which meant he didn't see the looks and, when he seemed to realise how quiet the hall had gotten, Harry opened one eye and grunted softly.

"What?"

"Ahem," said Dumbledore, pulling the attention of his students back to him, "Finally, this year, I am pleased to introduce a new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor to teach all eager minds and willing souls; he is one whom I hope you will all make feel as welcome and at home as your other mentors. He comes as a very highly-recommended defender against the evils of the world, having earned more than a fair, if somewhat-unorthodox reputation worthy of the likes of renowned Auror Alastor Moody as well as, not to blow my own horn, but, I myself. And so, in return for the chance to learn from one so well-versed in his craft, I hope that each and every one of you shall find his lessons educational, but enjoyable."

Even Harry seemed to take an interest in this as Albus indicated a spot to his right.

Ironically indicating the teacher he'd looked at when he had been worried about Harry's desire to be alone.

A golden-blond haired man whom, to many students' surprise and disbelief, wasn't wearing robes, but, instead, he was dressed in a long, tan overcoat that covered a plain white shirt, a loosely-hung tie and chinos, as well as converse sneakers on his feet. To the shock of a few, particularly an elder, snobbish redhead on the Gryffindor Table, he was also smoking in the Great Hall, puffing clouds of smoke into the air as he waved a weak hand at the sea of curious, shocked and even disbelieving faces looking up at him, as Dumbledore introduced him.

"Please join me in welcoming Professor John Constantine to Hogwarts!"

So, the adventure begins and, blimey, talk about a mysterious upbringing: Harry is definitely not the hero sort, but what could the secret to his strange habits, stranger looks and unusual upbringing really be?

Also, to quote a certain someone: bloody hell!

Hell's Most Wanted has come to Hogwarts? Why?

Surely, it's just a coincidence that he is there when Harry's there…isn't it?

Keep Reading to Find Out

Next Chapter: Harry has to deal with the circling ravens, as well as vultures, hyenas and other bloodthirsty egos that want to try and make a name for themselves with him: however, it looks like he might have an advocate; one whom has a request for their new charge;

Please Read and Review

AN: Portrayals

John Constantine: Matt Ryan

Albus Dumbledore: Jude Law

Lily Potter: Rachel McAdams